


Let It Die

by ThatSoChangeableChick



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Gen, Graphic Description, Mild Gore, Moral Ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSoChangeableChick/pseuds/ThatSoChangeableChick
Summary: Trapped in a warehouse with the Joker. Again. This time the Joker won't survive. Even if it kills Jason in the process. The Joker will die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello yall,  
> I originally wrote this to be a part of my Red Hood Reflections series but I haven't reached this part in the series yet and I still wanted to publish it for you guys, so...! Maybe I'll add it later, maybe I'll do something similar, who knows?  
> Enjoy!

You had to be kidding him. This wasn’t happening – this didn’t happen, not again, not anymore. Jason was on top of things, he decided when this would happen, when they would meet again, when one of them got beat. And Jason wouldn’t get beat, not again, not anymore. It wasn’t in the plan – any of them. Jason always had an ear out, feelers around for that demented clown’s whereabouts and the latest reports put the Joker in Arkham.

In other words that deranged psychopath’s vacation home; and work had started early it seemed.

Jason had been checking up on his dealers – covertly obviously, didn’t want any surprises when it came to those scumbags – when he’d heard a kid yell. It was pretty basic round these areas but Jason didn’t let that stop him from leaping the rooftops to find the troubled kid. He did his best to save who he could – it wasn’t part of some regime the Bat insisted upon. This had always been a part of Jason. And not even death had taken that from him.

Except that kid, the one in danger – he couldn’t be saved, not from the Joker’s clasp. Or maybe Jason spoke of himself, did the kid get out? He hoped his head wasn’t caved in – again, he already had white in his hair and hadn’t hit twenty yet. Not that’d it mattered much – Jason would die again at this rate, not avenged as before and this second chance at life kidnapped before he could do what he was recreated to do.

He’d gotten to the kid, trapped in a warehouse which had Jason’s skin prickling for the very reason he was now on death’s door – again. You’d think Jason would be used to it. He’d already died, what was one more time? Couldn’t be worse than the first? Except the first time, Jason held onto that hope – held onto the knowledge that Bruce loved him, and here? Jason didn’t have any empty platitudes, just a clown incessant on finishing what he’d started.

“Let me go!” the Kid yelled again, struggling and straining against the ropes tying her against the metal support beam. Her dark raven locks were cropped jaggedly short – like a two year old had cut off all the doll’s hair – and a large familiar crimson ‘R’ was spray painted onto her dress.

Jason surveyed the area before entering, not finding any trip wires or hidden cameras in the kid’s direction – Jason plopped onto a high beam and swallowed as another warehouse flashed into view, this one with piles of explosives and ticking time bomb. It was a trap, clear as all hell it was a trap but that didn’t mean Jason could let this kid die when their captors got bored Jason was a no show.

No kid deserved that.

He carefully plopped off the crisscrossed overhead beams and pressed a finger to his helmet as the kid startled silent at his sudden appearance. Her eyes were a clear blue, see-through almost in earnest emotions. Jason unhooked his grabbling gun and tucked it back in, taking out his dagger that had the kid pull back further with a terrified grunt. “I’m getting you out,” Jason whispered back, cutting through the ropes like butter.

The kid slid down without any weight, relief shining in her eyes as she brandished her zip tied hands. “You’re the Red Hood, aren’t you?” she hissed back, jaw squared and anger instead of fear shining back. Good kid – she’d survive this, wouldn’t be hopelessly traumatized; definitely a Gothamite, “He wanted you here. Quickly,” she rubbed at her wrists when Jason slit the zip ties off.

“Yeah, well they got me here. You know who you’re talking about?” Jason asked, already grabbing a hold of his grabbling gun while the kid nodded emphatically. Then her pale blue orbs widened, back knocking into the steel beam at the vision behind Jason’s shoulder. He didn’t need to turn to feel the demented grin aimed at the back of his head, spiking his skin with Goosebumps. “Stay behind me, kid,” Jason ordered, already taking out his gun in his other hand.

“You are one difficult man to get a hold of Mr. Red Hoodie,” the Joker croaked. Last they’d met Jason had the upper hand – he had a plan in the process, which Bruce had destroyed – but Jason wasn’t the Joker’s victim. He was Jason Todd, his own man, and alive again to do what Bruce couldn’t – because that’s the path left for him after Batman’s ultimate choice to mortally wound Jason over killing the Joker. “Or should I say my little birdie? Or what is it called when Papa Bats doesn’t want his bird anymore?

“No matter, Mama’s here for his little birdie boy – Ready to come home?” Joker gnashed out from between his grinning teeth. Jason faced the Joker, there were seventeen lackeys positioned around him all with their faces painted like a clowns.

Jason tilted his head, “If you wanted a first class ticked to a gruesome death Mr. Not-As-Bonkers-As-He-Wants-People-To-Believe all you had to do was ask.” His answering grin not as bright but more than a little cold – Jason had to get the kid out of there, and then beat the Joker down. Maybe Jason would go for the kill this time – not like Batman would pick up a gun and do it himself if Jason just let the Joker roam free. Jason wouldn’t be part of the problem.

He’d be the solution.

Joker’s laughter filtered off and Jason hadn’t noticed when he’d started because whenever Jason had a flicker of painted white in his vision the cackles began and didn’t turn off until his gun released a bullet. “Priceless,” Joker skipped forward, crowbar toppling into his hand, “You were always my favorite Robin. Mainly because I killed you,” the crowbar clapped on his palm. “And I know I did so don’t play games with me!” he snapped, only to smile right back.

This in itself set the tune for that night. Not that the Joker’s goons understood or the terrified but defiant kid who’d damn well better survive this didn’t think this was more than deranged clown talking.

“Always so spunky, so street, so ghetto – ha-ha!” the Joker yelled, “Oh, you had anger, such anger. I’d only seen that level in the Bat – two peas in a pod, the perfect son. To me, that is – don’t think I haven’t noticed you wearing my colors, son. I wouldn’t have gone for the biker gang angle but you never were that perfect, were you?”

Jason didn’t owe this clown – a literal clown, that is - anything. His fist still tightened over his scuffed gun, head lifted, sneering all the while, “You talk too much,” and Jason fired.

The kid scrambled as Jason yanked them behind nearby crates, all the while firing and only pausing to fling out explosive agents. Joker’s goons shrieked and Jason smirked, pulling out his grabbling gun – “Hold on tight, kid.” Jason shielded her with his body while they ascended speedily, hiding them behind an outcropped beam while the remaining goons continued to fire.

“They’ve got guns,” she hissed, panicked and rather frozen, little chest heaving as her freckles bled out in contrast to her pallor. Jason reloaded his own gun.

“Good I got my own then,” he took note of the reaming thugs. There were fifteen all capable of shooting weapons and the Joker remained in his former position, inclined to smirk in growing boredom at Jason. This wouldn’t end well – for that clown, that is. “Okay,” Jason crouched to face the kid, “You see that hatch over there?” Jason pointed at the open overhead window not too far from them.

She swallowed, “I can’t go there! They’ll shoot me,” the kid insisted.

Jason shook his head, calm and collected because that’s how you talked with civilians who wanted to get out of it alive. The old man did teach some neat tricks; things Jason had been willing to take a life for when it didn’t receive him the same consolation from the source. “No, they won’t,” Jason waved his duo of guns, “I’ve got your back.”

The kid sniffed.

The Joker mused, “I remember you as more fun my little birdie. Why don’t you come down and we can return to our regularly scheduled program?” he carted off, sinister and downcast as the middle of his face scrunched from a combined frown and demented grin. “Oh, leave the kid – she doesn’t matter – oh, oh!” He switched to his goons, “Shoot the kid. Get it over with, we haven’t got all night – well actually, that’s I lie. We’ve got all the time in the world, don’t think good ole’ bats will come knocking for damaged goods. Do you?”

He nudged one of his goons, knobby elbow and all. Jason would destroy them, destroy them all – these scumbags didn’t deserve to live. Get the kid out, just get the kid out.

Safe to mention, Jason got the kid out. Jason didn’t get out though. He slammed back down, back into the fray and took down half a dozen in a single flawless sequence that would’ve made Bruce proud. Not that he owed that asshole anything – not anymore, not after everything Jason had given out. And then…well, Jason got slammed back down, and he couldn’t recover – not speedily enough.

A crowbar made moving difficult from that point on. It hadn’t just rang in his head but it rang familiar, the sensation, the little snap-crack beside his temple that filled his stomach with dread and mouth with bile and all Jason truly realized from that point forward was that it was happening again and no one would care, not enough and Jason hadn’t utilized his second life for it’s due.

“Is that all?” the Joker scowled, elbow balanced upon his wrist and hip jutted to side while he gauged Jason with disdain. He ducked to try to rip off Jason’s already caved in helmet but couldn’t do it, “Know what? You and DoE take off his helmet – to be honest this was more fun when you were half your size, you made the most adorable sounds!” he clapped his hands.

Great, this bad performance all over again – Jason should kill him, yeah – that sounded like an idea Jason could get behind.

He attacked; black boots first to destabilize the demented clown much to his shouted laughter, then wrapped his boots around the Joker’s pallid throat. Just the right switch of Jason’s knee and it would be over, neck snapped and Gotham would rejoice.

Joker held out his hands, “Hold the phone here. We’re finally getting interesting, here I was about to disown you from the family – aren’t you doing your Papa proud,” he cooed. Why the demented clown that Jason wouldn’t do it, Jason couldn’t figure out? Unless Joker didn’t care – Jason did though, cared enough to end this.

Joker’s goons had gun brandished at Jason, what did it matter if the Joker was finally dead?

Joker signaled his thugs to back down, stretching out his neck to fully test the limitations Jason’s boots constricted with obvious glee. “Well Son,” he licked his grin, something akin to pride as he tapped on Jason’s boots. “Snap my neck why don’t you – don’t think the ole’ Bats will take you back, do you?” Joker cackled, “Be doing you a favor! Batsy doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” he hissed, gleefully and shrilly.

That’s it. That’s the grand bargain riding on the Joker’s life. If that delusional clown believed Jason hadn’t already lost that he was more mentally unstable than Jason first anticipated. Jason bared his teeth at the Joker’s anticipatory grin, the yellowed sheen over the whites of Joker’s eyes sharpened.

His knee buckled, jostled by a hard force shooting right through the thick marrow of his thigh and Jason’s hold dissolved, slamming his partially fractured fists to stem the exuberant rush of blood. Fuck.

The Joker growled, chin plastered to his thin throat, “Did I tell you to shoot?” he prompted to the sweaty thug that’d shot Jason. “Well,” the Joker pursed his painted lips, face outstretched as he considered, and “Did I?”

“He was going to kill ‘ya, boss…sir,” the thug shook out.

The crowbar soaked in Jason’s blood slapped against his mangy white gloves. He gauged his other thugs, “That’s all well and good but I didn’t order you to shoot him! Did I?” the Joker considered. “Oh, well I didn’t want it,” he frowned, stole a gun from another thug and imploded the entire magazine into the thug that’d shot Jason.

The thug tipped over. And Jason shifted, shuffling to reach the utility belt that a thug had snapped off him with his own goddamned dagger.

“Much better,” the Joker breathed a sigh of relief. He swiveled to face his huddle of thugs, hands on hips like a chiding mother if not for the smoking gun and demented crooked posture and grin, practically cajoling them to do wrong by him. “Now, let’s not interrupt Daddy while he’s working – Oh! Someone grab him,” the Joker chucked at Jason.

His boot was clasped, which was really all Jason wanted at this point. He kicked against the thug’s painted nose, smashing it in a single move and using the monument to flip staggeringly onto his feet, instinctively dodging the hilt of a gun swerving at his face. “Don’t kill him, don’t kill him,” the Joker huffed, jazzing his hands about.

Jason decked the first two assailants, didn’t catch the third slamming his heel down on the back of Jason’s knee, and yeah, he buckled. He flung a knife he had hidden inside his boot at another thug, elbowing and knocking down thug after goon – until a shot rang out, blasting a hole into Jason’s shoulder.

Jason grunted and stowed behind a dead goon, Jason’s spare knife pinned into the painted forehead. “Oh, come out of there,” the Joker cajoled, dropping the gun like it was zilch. “I just wanted you to stop killing my men,” the Joker pushed his palms in surrender, “See, no more gun. Don’t hide from me, my little birdie, we’re going to have so much fun together – we’ll start with bracelets, matching ones.” And the Joker took out handcuffs, grin hitching to his eyeballs.

He had to staunch his wounds; the shoulder wound was agonizing at each tilted breath but adrenaline overwrought most of that. It was the bullet still lodged in the marrow of his thigh that was an issue, abandoning the entirety of his left leg a useless weight. Hardly the worst bit – Jason reckoned he had five minutes before shock overtook.

The only floor level entrance was barred, and still four wounded Joker thugs remained upright, and then there was the Joker, barely a blood splatter on his purple cuffs.

Five minutes. It was a life time – the second lifetime Jason had allowed to be wasted. Except this time it wouldn’t, couldn’t be a waste. Five minutes…Jason had five minutes.

Jason smiled. Five minutes – it was a lifetime. It was more than enough time. And now when Jason finally collapsed, fell to his knees it would be in the knowledge he’d destroyed the curse upon his home. He’d take the Joker down with him. Imagine that – a world without the Joker, a peaceful world, a peaceful life.

The Joker would become a scary story, a bed time tale for naughty kids – like Jason had been; he smiled, crooked and far off - who’d never understand the damage and bloodshed and terror the Joker had wrought in reality. That should have happened years ago.

Well, it was better late than never. Jason couldn’t wait around for Bruce to understand, to do what should have been done. Maybe Bruce couldn’t learn, wasn’t capable of it – maybe if Goldie had been tortured and murdered by the Joker, yeah. But it wouldn’t happen at this point.

This was Jason’s purpose. To do what Batman couldn’t, his shadowed partner despite it all. Yeah, that was good. This would be good – be just, be right.

The Joker prattled on, apologizes over his minions conduct and how they couldn’t follow orders. Jason unlatched his helmet and Joker paused, intrigued as Jason shook out his blood matted hair. This was the end. He clasped the rims of his half shattered helmet, half his domino mask glinting back at him and his smirk less intense then he would have figured.

Yeah, it was the end. Good riddance.

The Joker hummed, “What this? Boy, speak up!” he stomped his pointed shoes – a temper tantrum brewing speedily, as Jason rocked onto his feet and let the body protecting him fall. Yeah, Jason sagged over his injured thigh but it’d hold him several seconds longer. Just enough time to end this.

Jason smirked, “I got a gift for ya’,” And Jason staggered forward, perfect sneer intact while he clutched his smashed crimson helmet closer.

The Joker scowled, elongated grin twitching protruding downward. “Really,” the Joker indulged, “I’m all up for a good joke, you know.” His winningly demented grin drooped back into scowl, “Except I don’t think you’ll be laughing when I’m finished with you birdie boy. Bats will have to recognize you by your innards! Sick ‘em boys!” the Joker shrieked.

“Oh, I really don’t think they want to be anywhere near this, it’ll really blow,” Jason shrugged; gripping his helmet with his gaze fastened on the clown. It wouldn’t be a day for winners, only failures but that’d be alright if the Joker blew to smithereens with him. He cocked an assured smirk, “And this gift is all for you.”

Jason handed his helmet over, thumped it right in the Joker’s scaly chest. He arched a green eyebrow, “This it, son? Ole’ Bats has messed with your head if you think this is a proper present!” And as the Joker’s hand came way to slap Jason upside the head, Jason smiled crookedly and uttered the failsafe that’d self-destruct his helmet:

“Haywood.”

The Joker scowled, “Huh? Speak up, boy! Have half a mind to - !”

His helmet beeped red a single time. The Joker harrumphed at the craggily broken helmet. Jason grinned, tight and pleased. It imploded in the next millisecond.

That’s how Jason landed on the ground a second time, only partially protected from the blast by his sturdy Kevlar. His throat, chin and ears were partially melted off, grating and grasping when he sucked in a deep breath and blinked the overly bright white from his vision and the ringing from his eardrums. The Joker was laughing – of course it didn’t take him out.

Jason swiveled his head, locating the Joker – huh, maybe it would take him out. There was a bloodied gape in the Joker’s slim chest, ribs clearly visible, blackish blood oozing to blanket the insanely cackling form. And at the right angle, Jason saw a thumping organ just beneath a collapsed tissue – Jason smiled, and couldn’t help a laugh of relief.

It would be over. Nothing that didn’t arrive in the next minute or two would save the Joker. But until that point, until the deranged life finally fled those too wide orbs it’d be agonizing and that was what little retribution Jason could promise to the lives the Joker had destroyed.

And then, fucking hell – the worst thing that happened just waltzed into the warehouse, like it wouldn’t decimate the little justice Jason had finally achieved. He reached out, fingers wrapping around a machine gun a goon had dropped and fired.

It was empty, figured it was empty. Fuck it, this wouldn’t happen!

The Joker cackled, “Bats, Bats! Just in time ole’ buddy ole’ pal – honey, it’s seems the kid’s become pigheaded. Ha-ha!” Figures the Joker’s lungs still held enough to speak, to laugh at Jason.

It wouldn’t matter long enough. Jason flopped onto his wounded chest, he had to reach his dagger, sunken into a goon’s chest – it was only a couple feet, just get there! Finish this, it’d be over! “Jason,” Batman towered, close enough to touch his pristine black boots. Jason ignored him – he wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t ever stop.

Not until Jason was cold and dead in the ground, all over again. But, wasn’t like that had truly stopped him the first time around.

Jason outstretched for the bloodied dagger – if he reached, he could kill the Joker with a single toss of it. Batman captured his wrist, “Enough, Jason,” he whispered. Jason could smell his aftershave, familiar as it was, just under the Kevlar and dank rust of the Bat Cave. It smelled like the only home Jason had truly belonged at, “You need medical attention,” Bruce insisted.

His eyes burned and blurred, “Don’t do it,” Jason choked, taut fingers scrambling to reach the dagger just out of his reach. And Jason begged, “Don’t save him, B.” He had to get Batman to understand, to at least follow through with Jason’s attempt – just a final time. “It has to mean something,” Jason insisted, fingers sinking into the pool of blood around him.

Jason couldn’t find Batman’s concealed sights, but how his jaw twanged, the twitching muscle beside Batman’s pursed lips – Jason already knew what that meant. He shook his head, yanking his limp wrist from Batman’s grasp and tightened it over his Dad’s cape.

“For hells sake, B,” Jason rasped, “Let it die!” 

It was over. Jason realized a millisecond later the truth. He’d bled too much, the blood pooling under his chin wasn’t warm any longer and deep chill had set over his bones. Figured Jason has skipped the worst of shock and collided head first into death.

He didn’t have a single doubt that Bruce would do as he pleased, always had and always would. The Joker would live and Jason would die. The Joker would live to decimate entire graveyards upon graveyards.

And Jason would just be another filled out coffin. Figures then that Jason still loved his Dad. Not even wrongful death stopped that bullet, not even traitorous actions and boiled rage. Fucking figured. Least Dad made it this time – yeah, at least that.

Finally Jason felt the frigid embrace of death, agony silently dripping from all his wounds to reveal a resigned cold but this time, unlike the sudden darkness and emptiness, it whispered: “I can’t do that, Jason.” Figured it sounded just like Bruce.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~ feedback me so I know what you like ^ ^ ~


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